


Nuclear Family Dinner

by Josenka



Series: Dragon Ball Dysfunctional Domesticity [3]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Bad Puns, Coming of Age, Dysfunctional Family, Family Dinners, Gen, Mild Language, Saiyan Culture, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7827682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josenka/pseuds/Josenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignette of "nuclear" family dinner time with Bulma, Vegeta and Trunks in their effort, thanks to Bulma, to be more like "normal" families without Super Saiyans. And of course this plot will always backfire, foiled by Saiyans.</p><p>
  <i>Third grade was better, with fewer sobbers and snifflers. But sometimes former crybabies taunted him for being too weak for P. E. That was until he demonstrated why he had a reprieve from gym class: he was reigning Junior World Martial Arts Champion! And that got him into trouble. But not too much trouble. Playground equipment was easily replaced, so his punishment was to have all costs taken out of his future allowance.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nuclear Family Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> The Dragon Ball Universe is huge. Enormous. Gargantuan. It has its own Wiki, too! Even with that Wiki's help, nothing here's ever going to be certified 100% Canon™ because interpretation, speculation and invention. And omission of Dragon Ball GT and Super et al. It's all silly fun, this tale taking place after the defeat of Majin Buu and dismissing "Yo! Son Goku and His Friends Return!", that movie with Abo, Cado and Tarble.

No exceptions. Mom said so. Family dinner was scheduled every Tuesday evening at six. There would be neither Grandma nor Grandpa. _Not even Grandpa's cat Scratch!_ Guests were strictly prohibited. No Oolong and Yamcha, nor Goten, Chichi and Goku. And especially no Gohan and his girlfriend Videl Satan lest Mr. Buu and Mr. Satan follow her. It was nuclear family dinner time, not pretend the world needs saving from evil alien bacteria to sneak off with Goten to find Dragon Balls time.

But nothing nuclear ever happened. Any bams and booms, kapows and kabooms were from Dad burping. Anything that crashed or smashed was from Dad breaking cups and plates in haste to eat another dish. Thumps and whomps came from Mom slapping the table, irritated with Dad saying nothing but _“Hmph!”_ during the meals. The most explosive thing that ever happened was Dad shouting  _“Saiyans don’t talk while eating!”_

But Mom talked. Trunks did not remember her ever speaking to him like a child, like Chi-Chi did to Gotens. _Maybe it's because he still can't tie his shoes._ Mom told him all about classified research and development because, after all, someday he would be at the company helm. And Dad said he had more than proven himself a first-rate fighter to be accorded due respect. Except when it came to designating bedtime, a totally non-negotiable thing with both Mom and Dad.

And Trunks was definitely not like other children at Capsule Genius Academy. He had seen all other classmates get teary-eyed at some point from kindergarten to second grade, a few having thrown tantrums. _Saiyan princes can't ever cry in public._ Third grade was better, with fewer sobbers and snifflers. But sometimes former crybabies taunted him for being too weak for P. E. That was until he demonstrated why he had a reprieve from gym class: _he was reigning Junior World Martial Arts Champion!_ And that got him into trouble. But not too much trouble. Playground equipment was easily replaced, so his punishment was to have all costs taken out of his allowance.

Trunks did well academically. He had to. Mom and Grandpa were supergeniuses. _Super Supergeniuses 3!_ Even Dad had commanded Trunks to defeat his classmates, to be first in district and national exams. _Or else!_  Trunks had placed fourth in the district and nineteenth nationwide for his grade, even with training three, sometimes five, hours on schooldays. Dad was very unhappy about that. Until Mom told him to be first nationwide meant their son would have no time for martial arts. Suddenly Dad decided Trunks must only be in the district top ten. And then, and only then, it would be _"Or else!"_ time.

Trunks wondered how they would respond to his latest school trouble. He knew his grammar and language teacher had sent emails to Mom after his last writing assignment: write a nonfiction essay _“All About My Family”_. He had told the total truth about Dad for a change, not the usual stuff about him being in charge of Capsule Corp security or something. But Miss Pea Daunte had not believed him. Lucky Goten, he did not have to panic about teachers, being schooled by Chi-Chi and Gohan, his own brother, who was probably the third or fourth smartest being in the world. 

Trunks reread the essay that might bring trouble, having only scored 85 on it:

_My name is Trunks K. Briefs. I was born and raised in West City where I've spent most of my days. I really, really like martial arts. I’m reigning Junior World Martial Arts Champion. People say Mr. Satan faked losing to me in a exhibition match, but I punched him so he flew from the arena and had numbness in his face for months afterwards. The punch was really just like a gentle fistbump._

_My mom Bulma Briefs is from Planet Earth. She’s the famous Dr. and Mrs. Briefs's daughter and a gorgeous genius with 21 science doctrates and 341 honory degrees. She’s VP and CEO of R &D at Capsule Corp but mostly invents cool stuff and leaves paperwork to underlings. She hearts clothes shopping and inventing high tech gadgets._

_My dad His Mightiness, Prince Vegeta, Crown Fist of All Saiyans, of House Vegeta, is from Planet Vegeta. His homeworld was destroyed by Frieza. Frieza was almost destroyed by my best friend’s father but my future self totes defeated him and his father King Cold after travelling here in a time machine built my mom when I was a baby. My dad's a warrior who protects Earth from invaders. He likes martial arts more then me. Maybe he even hearts them. He spends all day training to be the most powerfulest fighter in the universe._

_I've got no sisters or brothers. Sometimes I wish I did. Other times I’m happy to be an only child. A sibling might borrow my favorite toys without asking._

Maybe there was nothing to worry about but his calligraphy. He had made no mentions of Androids, Cell and Super and Kid Buus, which was kept in absolute secrecy because Goku said so. And he had not said too much about Dad.It was hard enough learning anything about his past, way back when he was forced to obey Frieza. Except Saiyans dos and never ever ever dos. Dad always complained about how different weak and foolish Earthlings were from strong, mighty Saiyans. But Krillin said Dad was making a lot of that stuff up, like Saiyans would never wear boxers with cartoon badgers.

Trunks had to strike Dad multiple times during training to get any questions answered. Like, yes, Dad was _“technically”_ His Mightiness, King Vegeta XVII, Strong Arm and Sovereign Fist of All Saiyans. And his son was His Mightiness, Crown Fist of All Saiyans. But on Planet Vegeta the first royal son was named Vegeta, the second Tarble, the third Lettuz and so on. Trunks would not have had a name like Raditz or Kakarot, those being reserved for low-class Rutiz and Tuburz. He had asked why his name was not Saiyan and Dad had mumbled _“Because Bulma said so.”_ Mom-- _Queen Bulma?_ \--was the only one who commanded Dad, although Kak--Goku was sometimes able to in battle.

Worries washed aside when his stomach thundered. It never growled or gurgled like in other beings, instead booming and bellowing with explosive power. Perhaps that was what made family dinners nuclear. Sometimes there must be mushroom clouds in the Son household when Goku, dead or alive, had the loudest stomach in the universe according to several Kais. No one ever ate unhurriedly there unless Videl was visiting. Trunks reduced chewing speed when eating non-Saiyans to be polite.

The clock cuckooed like a pterodactyl. It was that time, time for Dad to say _“Hmph!”_ whenever Mom asked “ _Vegeta, honey, what do you think?”_ Trunks crumpled his paper essay, tossing it wherever; his teachers digitized everything anyway so paper was expendable. He flew to the dining room because, well, why not? He arrived just as Dad did, straight from training by the looks of him. It irritated Mom when he came to meals sweaty and unshowered, like a _“brainless Super Saiyan brute”_. As usual, she was already sitting at table, laden with meat dishes, looking at her old-fashioned watch.

“Well, my boys,” Mom clapped her hands together, “you’re only a minute and thirteen seconds late.”

“Hmph.” Dad claimed his chair. “I’ll be really late if I’m saving the universe from more space scum.” He began heaping plates with pasta and meatballs.

“So, honey,” she smiled at Trunks, “how was school today?”

“Well,” Trunks replied, “like it is everyday.” _Boring and stupid._

“Oh, you’re sounding more like a teenager everyday.” He floated to his chair. “How many times must I tell you not to do that in the house?”

 _Like every-freaking-day._ “I have to practice sometime.” Dad snorted. “I'm good and don’t do this at school, you know.” Even though he would like to scare the new Satan-hearting gym teacher who called him small, weak and scrawny for not playing dodgeball at recess.

Mom mumbled, “Saiyans just can’t be housetrained.” Ah, but they could! Dad had never destroyed their home with power ups like Goku.

And so, silently, they ate from an assortment of Italian, Mexican and Japanese food. Dad would eat about a kilo each of of pasta, beans and rice, in additional to many more meaty things. Mom had calculated his meals consisted of 20,000 calories minimum, enough to sustain a human for twelve days. Trunks ate about 14,000 per meal, one-third usually from desserts. _Because I'm Mom's sweet little Saiyan._ The number increased to 50,000 on days he fused with Goten which happened every other weekend.

And whenever they fused, Gotenks rocketed to the Lookout. Mr. Popo always had a feast ready for them after they defused. And beds, too. Being Super Saiyan 3 Gotenks was exhausting. Meanwhile, Piccolo had more scowls and glowers for them after Gotenks visited. Dende had told them Piccolo looked forward to what new attacks their fused form had dreamed up. Trunks did not believe the Guardian. Not like gullible Goten who wanted to get a birthday gift for _"Uncle Piccolo"_. _What a dumb idea!_ Piccolo did not like anything but turbans and pointy-toed shoes which he owned in abundance. _Maybe we should get him a sequined cape like Mr. Satan._

“Trunks.” Mom was finished dining already. Her meals were only like 700 calories, proof to Dad that humans were had evolved to be weaklings. And then Mom would say Saiyans had always had low numbers because they were resource hungry pariahs. “Trunks, are you going to Goten’s this weekend?”

He finished chewing fettuccine. “Yeah, we’re fusing on Saturday. And on Sunday Gohan’s taking us to the Satan City Superduper Spectacular Megamall.” Somehow, Goten had never been to a mall. _Any mall!_ Chi-Chi must never take him shopping for shoes.

“Hmph.” Dad halted his inhalation of unagi. He set down fork and plate and rested fists atop the table. His eyes stared down, not at the sushi he so hearted. “I have something to say about family.” Trunks felt his ears being ripped off and Mom gaped like Gohan did whenever he saw Videl in an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny bikini when they all went to the beach.

"What!?" Mom gasped. _"WHAT!?"_ It took her another minute to rediscover her voice. “Yes, um, what is it honey?”

“The Saiyan royal bloodlines must remain powerful.” His black eyes traveled up to meet hers. “It must stay above one-quarter Saiyan. We must have a daughter to mate with Kakarot’s youngest.”

“This isn’t what you discuss at dinner!” Mom rose and screamed at Dad. “You don’t talk about such things with children!” This argument would be so interesting, being about adulterous things.

“Trunks isn’t a child. He’s proved himself a fighter and can be proud he’s a Saiyan prince.”

“Mate with!?” Mom reddened, like when she was around Oolong and Master Roshi. “You can’t fucking marry people off like that on Earth.”

“I said mate, not marry.” Dad reached for chopsticks. “If Kakarot’s oldest has a daughter then Trunks will mate with her.”

Mom would totally be pummeling Oolong if he were here. “But--but--but isn’t Kakarot’s line too low class for you?”

“Options are limited now. If I knew where my brother was--”

“Brother!?”

"Uncle!?" Trunks burst. “I--I have an uncle?”

“Tarble may be dead for all I know,” Dad replied, seizing all the sushi for himself. “He was exiled far, far away for being a royal weakling when I was five and he was four.”

Mom punched the table so all dishware wobbled. “How could you go nine fucking years without mentioning your own brother?"

“It didn’t seem important.”

Mom grabbed her emptied plate. “Didn’t seem important!?”  She hurled it at Dad who, of course, evaded it so it crashed against the wall. “You never tell us anything about yourself. Nothing ever! Nothing except how you’ll be more powerful than Kakarot someday.”

“Last night I told you I liked your--”

“Not in front of Trunks! And don’t tell us how Saiyans do it.” As if Trunks knew nothing about bedroom kissy-kissy stuff! He and Goten had looked at several adult magazines owned by Master Roshi to understand how to be adulterous. It certainly involved lots of costumes sillier than what Saiyaman wore. “I’m tired of Saiyans this and Saiyans that all the fucking time, Your High and Mightiness.” Mom was right, it was annoying how Dad raved about Saiyans when he had wedded an Earthling.

"Hmph!” Dad resumed gobbling. Or food demolition, as Mom called it. He was the reason they could not dine at restaurants. Unless there was an eating contest there. And Dad had won dozens of hotdog eating trophies, setting new worldwide records while having a small snack.

“And you, young man,” her attention swerved to Trunk, “what’re you doing, writing about Saiyans in your school essays? You swore to Goku you’d keep it secret!” The teacher must have sent her a copy after all. Was Mom going to go nuclear during family dinner at last? Well, it would not be like when Dad ate with Goku, both going berserker when someone else ate their desserts.

"I got an 85 on it and called you a gorgeous genius."

"By the Great Dragon, you Saiyans are impossible to live with!" Then why did Mom keep living with them? Well, whatever, it was still time to eat.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fanfic is for fun, not profit. Unless The author gets ahold of seven Dragon Balls. Then it's a #1 Bestseller Short Story for five years.


End file.
